A Boy

A lump of clay
So malleable, so easily coaxed
Into taking shape.
And yet so divinely tricked
Into becoming something he is not,
For media and society,
Two demons with crowns of fire
And fingers that branch out and stab into everyone,
Long to claim his soul as theirs.
He gets confused and weary,
Tiring of the squabbles;
The struggle that comes
With both puberty and the journey
Of finding oneself.
The effort makes his head hurt
A pain behind his eyes
As his heart is torn to shreds.

A flower, with skinny stem spearing towards the sun
Only to wither and bend
Under the pressure of the wind -
That is to say, the pressure
Of the viewpoint of the outsider.
He pretends to not care,
But the facade cracks under the pain.
A stone, hardened and shaped,
Much like clay;
Growing cold and hard
To match the world he despises
Because he cannot understand
All of the pieces
Of the puzzle.

A visionary in a world of sheep,
Trying to maintain himself;
But is always lost
In the undertow and the tide.
Not even the sirens wanted him,
So he washes ashore, drenched and anew.
His feeble attempts
Spark rage and frustration,
And depressive bouts
As he fights the darkness in his head.
And all the while, the world laughs
The cruel observer and taskmaster,
Grinding him under heel, slowly
Piece by piece
Until nothing is left.
What is a boy
But a caterpillar undergoing metamorphosis? 

Reviews

[J. Alfred Prufrock]

i enjoyed this one very much. well done. http://occuevolve.com/

prufrock